The Godswords Part 2
Chapter 1: A Place To Mend
Surviving combat was not as much fun as stories made it out to be. When Talis was a child, called Savek back in Fallinswell, all a hero had to do was win to live happily ever after. His first real battle was a short affair, the defense by Yallowstooth village only a few days after finishing ranger training. His squad had come upon the Horusk scrambling over the walls with long ladders. Screams of pain and cries of terror from the villagers mixed with the clash of weapons, enraging veterans and rookies alike. The rangers charged wholeheartedly at the remainder of the invaders waiting to rush up the ladders and struck them down without warning.
None of the rangers died, and after the first few seconds the thrill of victory swept through him. Quickly, the wails of wounded villagers filled the air, quelling any celebration. The stink of fresh corpses, mixed with acrid smoke from the charred wall, gagged him. He avoided the puddles of fresh blood soaking into the ground and kept his eyes up where he might see someone he could help. Others there puked, including his best friend Jeuf, but not Mercin. She just stared, rarely blinking.
True shock came after the gates were slowly rolled open, and his squad marched into Yallowstooth to help with the aftermath. There, on the other side of the wall where the Horusk had made their attack, a pile of hacked and dismembered Eirethians waited burial. There was no elation on the faces of the defenders, or on the non-combatants emerging from the barricaded moon temple to see if their families remained intact. He found it difficult to look at the filthy, tear-streaked faces of the survivors. Even harder was to see people he could have grown up with grimacing in death on the ground in unflattering poses.
What stuck most in his memory was one young man who looked about his age sitting with his back to the wall, staring at nothing. Seeking to do some good for someone, he went over to shake the man out of his stupor. He found himself gripping a corpse. The killing wound was under the arm, unseen from his previous angle. The dead man’s wife found him shortly thereafter, and the new ranger had backed away, unprepared to deal with her cries. After that, the veterans showed him how to tie a cloth over his nose to stem the stench. He spent the better part of that day on burial duty.
Six years of experience as a border ranger served Talis well now. He kept a moderate pace through the Greenleaf Forest with Mercin close on his heels, Surtor following her, and Laeren last. Yesterday, he had emerged from the Andeel cave with the Grey Blade. The power of the Sword saved the group from a Horusk assault, but the elation of victory quickly faded. They were left with little more than their lives and the absence of others. With his heart still wounded from losing Caella, Lalis’ death left Talis feeling numb. Survival became his focus now and caring for the living. If they could see him now, his old trainers would be nodding their heads in approval.
The familiar trees surrounded them, their rough, brown trunks constant witness to their journey. Hints of sunlight drifted through the expansive canopy of wide green leaves overhead. The former rangers made little noise, but prince and priestess snapped and crunched every branch and leaf under their feet. With his attuned senses Talis kept a constant vigil, filtering out the background noise of life in the forest, attempting to detect any threat. He was used to people following him, having spent the last year as captain of his own ranger squad. A week ago, he had nineteen other lives under his command. Only two remained.
The first, Jeuf, was a constant friend since childhood. Before the ambush at Lalis’ hut, Jeuf decided to return to his life in Eireth. Talis no longer considered himself a part of that place.
With Caella and Jeuf gone, Mercin was the closest person in the world to him. He had known her since the day they signed up to be border rangers. After they finished training, he was approached by other rangers to place bets on how quickly Mercin would die on the battlefield. Disgusted, he had replied that she would outlive all of them. He had been right, and the last of those men was killed at Torn’s ambush. Glancing over at her, he saw her steady gaze scan the area through strands of red hair hanging down her face. For years he valued Mercin as one of the best rangers in his squad, and, like him, she had no reason to go back to Eireth. She also was a close friend of his lost love, Caella, and that was like having another part of her with him.
Prince Surtor trudged along, looking at the bark of the trees, birds, and passing woodland animals. He stared gloomily at a train of ants crawling across a gnarled root, pushing his long, filthy blonde hair out of his eyes. Like Laeren, he wore the solster uniform, and a shallow cut on Surtor’s back still caused him a bit of pain.
Laeren’s shoulder was still sore from the ambush, but the only other wound she suffered was a split lip from Kelsin Jeneros. Her swollen chin did little to diminish the blonde woman’s beauty. She watched the forest with an alertness that he found appealing, and sometimes he would turn to find her perceptive gaze on him. The part of him that was always interested in women pricked him with hope.
That small interest would inflame his pain and guilt over Caella, which would send him spiraling down into dark thoughts. He swore he would protect her and save her from her prophetic dreams. She died anyway, and what could he make of his own dream? Did he really speak with Caella’s spirit in the Grey Blade, or was she a phantom conjured by his grieving mind? He had told the others no more dream talk, and maybe that prompted the vivid dream of his lost love. The cycle of hope to pain repeated several times a day. It did not help that sometimes Laeren was not staring at him, but at the Grey Blade, her expression blank.
Laeren had replaced her torn uniform with a spare one from her pack, but all their clothes were dirty and ragged. Another problem was he and Mercin still wore Eirethian military outfits, something that would get them attacked no matter who they happened to meet.
Talis knew his group was hunted at least by any Horusk that remained. He had no way of knowing where General Torn was, or if he found the Shadow Crescent. He knew the Bright Horizon had found its champion, since he had met her yesterday. Either one of them could be coming after him. Although, he did not know if Deira would pursue for Surtor or the Grey Blade.
The Sword was in its plain leather sheath like any normal weapon, but with it on his hip he had no fear of danger. Let them come; let them meet the Grey Blade. A grim smile crossed Talis’ face as his eyes continued to roam over the forest.
Another branch snapped behind him, and his grin wilted as he considered those with him, his only three friends in the world. He doubted he would see Jeuf or any other rangers again. He did not know if he could keep these three safe even with the Sword. The best plan was to keep them moving, and that was what he did. Their wounds were still mending from the confrontation with Kelsin and his Horusk. The cut across Mercin’s ribs was healing well, but she was not fit to fight if they ran into trouble. Although, she would still try.
To avoid any confrontation, Talis stayed away from the leaf brick road, but kept travelling south. As they walked, he watched Mercin from the corner of his eye. He noticed that she kept looking at him periodically, as though afraid he might vanish. She needed something to do, something she enjoyed. As far as he knew women liked talking with each other more than anything else. When he reached a small clearing made by a fallen tree, he looked up past the leafy branches at the dark blue sky. There was a lingering orange light from the setting sun. The first snow of the year was less than a month away, and the air was growing colder.
“Surtor, Laeren, gather some wood for a fire. Mercin and I will dig a fire break,” Talis commanded softly, confident his charges would follow orders.
He unstrapped a small spade from his pack, searching for the proper spot. Mercin did the same, taking a moment to tighten her red hair back into a short tail. He ran a hand through his own grimy black hair and scratched at his chin stubble. He craved a bath and a shave, but he put those thoughts away as he worked. He chose a spot next to the log to give them a place close to the heat. The prince and priestess meandered between the trees to stoop and gather branches.
Mercin turned from thrusting her shovel into the earth, to look from the slow moving Koranthians and back to Talis. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll wander off?”
He glanced at his designated wood gatherers, taking little steps farther away from him. “That’s the point. If they have any intention of leaving and going back to the solsters, let them do it now. If they both come back, and I know they will, I’m going to set permanent double watches. I’m pairing you with Laeren and me with Surtor.”
Mercin smiled. “Boys with boys and girls with girls? That’s a little boring.”
Talis grinned back. “You would rather watch with Surtor?”
She sniffed as she wiped her brow, winced, and put a hand to her ribs. They had been walking all day, and she would need to change the bandage under her shirt. “I think we should switch it up, you know, different pairs every night. Me and you can even take a watch and let Surtor and Laeren handle their own for a night.”
As he considered her advice, he turned over a last shovel of dirt and inspected their work. The small ring of churned earth should keep their fire in control. “I like your idea better. Who do you want tonight?”
She bit her lip as she took a moment to think. “I’ll take Laeren. I think she needs a friendly ear to talk to because she’s still upset over that business with the temple. She’s too scared to talk to you.” She stooped to strap her shovel to her pack.
That was one part of his plan taken care of, but his face twisted in confusion over her last words. “Scared of what?”
Mercin chuckled as she straightened and looked at him. “Of you. You haven’t noticed she’s stayed in the back of the line all day, as far from you as she could get?”
Talis put a hand to the Grey Blade at his waist. “Why is she afraid of me? Because of the Sword?”
Mercin’s eyes glanced down at the Grey Blade, and he could not read her expression. “Cutting down all those Horusk like they were weeds probably didn’t help, but she was frightened of you before that.” She hesitated but looked him in the eye. “You’ve been in a dark mood since . . . the ambush.” She could have said ‘Caella’s death’, and he was grateful she did not. “If I didn’t know you better, I would be afraid of you too.”
Humbled, Talis sat on the log and flicked away a crawling beetle with his finger. “We’ve all been through a lot, but I’m not trying to scare them. I’ll try to be more pleasant.”
Laeren returned with an armful of branches, and Surtor followed, dragging a thick limb.
The prince smiled down at his prize and said, “This should keep us warm if we can break it up.”
Talis walked over to him, drew the Grey Blade and with two quick cuts divided the limb into three logs. “Good work, Surtor.” He wiped the blade on his pants to clean off small bits of bark and dirt, before sheathing the Sword.
The prince looked up from staring at the Grey Blade and managed a weak smile. “You never told us where you found that.”
Talis glanced down at the Sword and kept his tone casual. “I found it in the ruins of Andeel.”
Cutting off all further conversation, he stooped to gather the logs. Using smaller branches and a pile of dead leaves, he started the fire with flint and steel. They all huddled around for warmth as the chill of night settled in. The swordsman studied the group, silently munching on stale rations. From the slumped shoulders and empty stares, he could tell his companions had serious morale issues. The emotional stress was no surprise. Three of them were homeless, and the prince was in no hurry to get to his nice, big castle. They had all lost close friends to violent battles, and in Talis’ case he had lost the love of his life. Surtor would certainly say the same, but Deira was still alive, so that was yet to be determined. Not only did they need some time away from fighting, but also rest to process how their lives had changed.
Talis tipped his canteen back to let the cold water wash the last of the tasteless, dried food from his mouth. As he screwed the cap back on, he asked, “Do either of you know a safe place nearby where we can stay to mend our wounds, maybe get some supplies?”
Laeren stared glumly at the fire and shook her head.
Surtor turned to him with a serious expression. “I still intend to ally my house with House Jeneros. They do not have much, but they will not turn me away if I ask for aid especially after I tell them my plans.”
Laeren pushed a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes, as she turned to the prince. “Can we trust them? Their brother was a traitor.”
Surtor nodded, sending his own golden strands shaking. “I do not think Kelsin’s sisters had anything to do with his betrayal.”
“Still sounds risky,” Mercin said, but she stared at the fire, sounding distant.
Talis considered their options. “Anything we do right now is risky. If you think we can trust them, Surtor, then we’ll give them a chance. How far away is this House Jeneros?”
The prince paused to think. “A day and a half of travel by horse from the ambush site, but I only know the way by the road.”
Looking at him suddenly, Mercin asked, “We’re not going back to the ambush, are we?”
Talis looked at her and shook his head. “None of us want to see that.”
Laeren spoke up, “I know where House Jeneros is. There is a stretch of the road that runs east to west before turning north again. If we keep south, we should reach it and it is past where we first fought the Horusk. It should take about two days on foot.”
“We’ll visit House Jeneros then,” Talis said. “Surtor you and I have first watch tonight. Mercin and Laeren will take second.”
The women settled into their blankets, laying close to each other for warmth. Surtor shivered and wrapped his own blanket around his shoulders as he sat on the log next to Talis. The swordsman poked at their fire with a stick, stirring up the coals for more heat, and glanced over at his sentry partner.
It was time to start bonding. “You seem pretty calm about your marriage situation. I was nervous thinking about my vows, and I was completely in love with Caella.”
Surtor pulled his blanket tighter and stared into the flames. “I never had the option of choosing my own wife. Even Deira asked me first. My mother made it clear that I might not even see my wife before my wedding day, depending on who made the best offer for me. Of course, she always intended for me to have a sister, possibly more than one. When that never happened, my options became even more limited, and the choice of my wife was left to the High Priestess.”
Shaking his head over the lesson in Koranthian royal marriages, Talis said, “I could not imagine being married to a stranger. Are you sure you can’t work things out with Deira?”
The prince sniffed. “It is not a matter of working things out. I have had time to think since I saw her last, and Antol’s Champion cannot be Queen. The duties of both are too great for any one person.”
“You think she still loves you?” Using his stick Talis pushed an errant log farther into the flames.
Surtor turned away and by the feeble light Talis could see tears gleaming in his eyes. “I am disgraced. How could she still love me? Which of us has it worse, you who had your love die in your arms, or I who watched my love turn her back and walk away?”
The petulant question irritated him, and Talis took a deep breath to calm his temper. “As long as Deira is alive at least you have hope. My hope is dead.”
Surtor shook his head. “You do not understand.”
Talis felt his patience buckling. “Fine, I don’t. How well do you know these Jeneros sisters?”
The prince wiped his eyes. “I grew up with them. Our mothers were close, and we were childhood playmates. Kelsin was once my best friend, and before a few days ago, I held him and his sisters in the highest regard. Now that I have had time to think more about it, taking a Jeneros as a wife might not be wise.”
Since they had just decided the wisest thing for them was to go to House Jeneros, the young man’s indecision irritated the swordsman further. Talis turned to bite him with a witty retort but paused when he saw turmoil on the prince’s face.
“What happened with the sisters?”
Surtor gave him an uncertain glance. “I am the last direct member of the royal line. By Antol’s law my firstborn daughter will be Queen, and her mother will rule in her stead until her seventeenth birthday. House Jeneros has been under severe stress the last few years, and the sisters got desperate.”
That sounded ominous. “How desperate?”
“They tied me to a bed and pulled my pants down,” the prince told him bluntly, and his gaze dropped to the ground. “Deira stopped them.” He put his head in his hands and let out a pitiful sob. “What am I going to do without her? She was brave and strong and beautiful, and I wanted to marry her so badly. I wanted to go to bed with her every night and lose myself in her embrace. We should be together at the Radiant Temple right now. She fought to protect me and almost died, and I did nothing. I curled up in a ball like a coward. I should have fought, should have protected her.”
Talis waited out the tirade in silence. After a short pause he asked, “Finished?”
Surtor lifted his head, his face wet with tears and a hint of challenge in his eyes. “Am I bothering you? My apologies, gentle swordsman, if my emotional agony is too much for you to bear. Does my weeping offend you?” His tone had an edge to it by the time he ended his sarcasm.
Scowling, Talis shifted to face the younger man. “I fought. I did everything I could, and Caella still died. Bad things happen, Prince, no matter how much you don’t want them to. Focus on what you can do, not what you didn’t do because it’s over. You’ll never be back there in that moment again. You’re torturing yourself for nothing.” The sounds of the forest skittered around them as Talis paused to wipe a hand over his wet eyes. He told himself it was from the smoke, but their fire was small, the wind still. “We both failed, Surtor, even though we took different paths to get there. Caella and Deira, we can’t do anything for them now. We can do something for each other and ourselves. So, these sisters, if not one of them, who can you marry?”
Shaking his head, Surtor let his gaze drop back to the ground. “There is no one else I know of between here and Antolikas.”
He tried a different tactic. “What is it about this Matron Boetha that you hate so much? You said she is beautiful and rich.”
Surtor glowered as he dried his eyes on the blanket. “She is also vain and prideful. She would not make a good queen. Plus, she had an affair with my father. I saw them together.”
Vaguely, Talis remembered the conversation he had with General Torn about King Jaimes and his plan to marry Surtor to his mistress. “I can see how you wouldn’t want to curl up with her. Do you know of any other Houses with daughters you can marry?”
Surtor gave a suspicious side glance. “Why so much interest in my marriage plans?”
He grinned. “Our futures are linked until we get to Antolikas. Besides that, you seem like a nice guy. It would be nice to see you with a queen you actually like.”
Surtor shifted on the log. “What about you? Any plans to find a wife?”
His grin fell at that question and after a moment of hesitation, Talis stood. “We’ve got hours of watch duty left, but I think we’re safe enough. Let’s train.”
“Train?” Surtor asked and glanced around with a bewildered look.
Talis drew the Grey Blade and took a few practice swings with it. It was light as air in his hand, a joy to wield. “I’ll show you a few basic maneuvers and exercises to get your muscles used to going through the motions. The next time we’re in a fight, you should know something about how to do it.”
Surtor stood uncertainly, drew the sword he battle-gleaned at Lalis’ hut, and followed the swordsman away from the fire. He stayed wrapped in his blanket, until Talis yanked it from his shoulders and tossed it over the sleeping women.
“You’ll warm up once we get a good rhythm going,” he told the shivering prince.
He showed him how to hold the sword, and how to stand. They spent the next few hours swinging their weapons in controlled motions until it was time to wake Mercin and Laeren. Surtor did not learn much, but Talis reveled in using the Grey Blade, even in practice.
The same night, Mercin yawned as she sat on the log, which pulled at her wound, and sent a wave of pain through her body that she ignored. “I haven’t had a full night’s rest since Fort Terrace. Do they have soft beds at this House Jeneros place?”
Next to her on the log, Laeren was huddled in her blanket, staring at the stack of sticks they added to the fire. “I did not go inside the house, but it will doubtless be more comfortable than out here.” She still had a lisp from her swollen lip.
Mercin glanced around their dreary campsite and ran a hand through her hair as she shivered. “I would kick an old man in the knees for a few nights in a soft bed right now.” Talis and Surtor were already sleeping back to back in the blankets she and Laeren recently vacated. She could not help but smile at the two men. “They look kind of cute like that.”
Laeren glanced at the sleeping forms. “Yes, he almost looks peaceful when unconscious.”
That irked her, and she gave the other woman a side glance. “Which one?”
The priestess shivered and pulled her blanket tighter. “The dangerous one, not the incompetent one.”
Mercin laughed. “I can’t argue with that. Sa-Talis is dangerous, but you don’t have to be afraid of him.”
Laeren turned an incredulous look on her. “I have trained and fought against opponents all my life, and I have never seen anything like what he did to those barbarians. A killer like that cannot be trusted.”
Mercin pointed a finger at her. “I’ve known that man for six years, and he only draws his sword when he has to. Of course, when he does pull a blade, you want to be on his side of things, but he killed to protect us. Don’t forget, if not for that ‘killer’ the Horusk would still be passing you around.”
That seemed to deflate Laeren’s ire. “And you as well,” she added softly.
Mercin shook her head. “Not me. I swore never again. I’ll open my own veins before I let another Horusk shove my face in the dirt.” She swiped her fingers over her cheek, as though to brush away debris that was not there.
Tears began to slip from Laeren’s eyes. “I do not fear death but being at the mercy of those men almost broke me. I . . . I was going to tell them. I was not going to at first, but after Kelsin tore open my shirt . . . I saw the looks on their faces. Then he grabbed me.” She clutched the blanket tighter against her chest. “I was going to show them the way to the Radiant Temple, anything to keep them from hurting me.”
Mercin put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “And they would have raped and killed you anyway, along with all your people at the temple.” She leaned down and looked the woman in the eye. “But Talis stopped them.”
Laeren looked at her miserably, and then broke. She buried her face in Mercin’s shoulder and shook as she wept. The former ranger wrapped her up and held her until her sobs subsided. Silently, Mercin congratulated herself on simplifying a complex situation. Laeren was right; what Talis did was beyond human. Throughout all their years as rangers, he was one of the best fighters. With the Grey Blade, he was something else. Despite the apprehensions of the solster, Mercin felt no fear towards the man she called ‘Savek’ for six years. If he wanted to use his old name now, that was fine with her, but he was still her friend. With a smirk she realized Talis was her closest friend, now that Kaller and Caella were gone.
Laeren leaned away and wiped her face. “We have lost everything, alone and desperate out in these woods, counting on the charity of a traitorous house to make it through. How do you go on? How do you keep fighting?”
Mercin gave the younger woman a brave smile. “Because I’ve always had someone to help me, and now I’m going to help you. That day I told you about, when I lost my family, I felt the same way you do. I didn’t know what to do, how to go on. Two rangers named Kaller and Elbril sat me down and told me the only thing to do after losing your family was find a new one and I did. As bad as it sounds, I’ve gotten used to tough times and people dying on me. My first big lesson in that was my parents and sister, but I got another lesson once I started on patrol. Ranger Elbril was killed right in front of me, pinned to a tree by a Horusk spear. I held her hand while the priest tried to save her, and after a while I realized I was holding a dead hand. Now I’ve lost Kaller and Caella too, but I’ve still got Talis, and now you and Surtor.”
The priestess stared at her intently. “Are you in love with him?”
Mercin leaned back, shocked. “With Savek, I mean, Talis? No, that’s not us. I mean, of course I’ve thought about it, but Caella was smitten with him from the moment she first saw him. I haven’t thought about it in years. No, I love him like a brother, but I wouldn’t want to marry him.”
Laeren’s voice was soft. “There was a solster that died in the ambush, Deren, that I was very fond of. I let him touch my breasts once, but that is the closest I ever got to being in love.”
She turned a knowing grin on her. “What about Surtor? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about being Queen of Korance.”
Laeren shook her head with a sour expression. “His former betrothed, Deira, is a close friend of mine, a mentor like you had. I think every time he looks at me, he sees her.” She sighed. “He was trying to set me up with his cousin Kelsin before he tried to kill us. The strangest thing is that with all that has happened, all the people I have lost, what haunts me when I close my eyes is the sight of Kelsin’s leering face as he put his hands on me.”
Mercin took a moment to check their perimeter. “What still creeps me out is the thought of General Torn leaping at us from the dark. Growing up I heard tales about dead men coming out of their graves and feeding on the living, but I thought they were just spooky stories.”
Laeren giggled. “I actually forgot about that. You are right, that was scary.”
Laughing along, she replied, “Scary? I’m glad I didn’t wet my pants.”
That got Laeren laughing harder, and the women spent a few moments in shared mirth.
Mercin continued, “That happened to me once. My sister and I were out in the forest after dark; I think I was ten. She gave me the slip, and I thought she left me. Then she jumped out from behind a tree and scared me. I was so startled I couldn’t even move, and the next thing I know I’m standing in a puddle. She made fun of me for that . . . right up until the day she died.”
The jovial mood wilted as the cold and darkness hovering around their small camp dampened their spirits.
Laeren said, “I think it is a mistake to trust House Jeneros, but Prince Surtor is convinced he can reform them.”
Mercin poked at the fire with a stick. “I don’t think he feels like he has a choice. Why are these sisters so bad?”
Glancing at the sleeping prince, Laeren lowered her voice. “Surtor’s first born daughter will be queen, and the mother will rule until she comes of age at seventeen, no matter who it is. The Jeneros sisters conspired to force him to get one of them pregnant, and poisoned Deira in their attempt. She almost died from it. I fear what any of them would do with the power of a queen.”
Mercin shook her head. “Princes and queens and magic swords. A week ago, my biggest worry was finding Horusk before they could raid a village. Now I’m calmly discussing the fate of Koranthian succession. Okay, I can do this. One of the first things my father taught me as a girl was when you see a problem, you either do something about it, or you give it your blessing. If you don’t want a Jeneros as queen, then you need to give your prince a better option.”
Laeren let her head fall. “You mean me, but I am disgraced. The High Priestess will never agree to our union.”
She gave her an even look. “You just said the mother of his daughter will be queen while she grows up, no matter who it is. I’m not telling you to be deceitful but talk to the prince. Tell him you don’t think any of these sisters will be a good pick.”
Laeren looked skeptical. “And then tell him I want to bear his daughter? That will make me sound very self-serving.”
Mercin shook her head. “No, don’t tell him that. Let him figure it out for himself. What do you have to lose? He made it clear he doesn’t want to go home without a wife to protect him.”
Laeren put a finger to her chin. “I must admit, I have thought about it, but what kind of queen would I be?”
She smirked. “Surtor might be dumber than a half dead mule, but I can tell he has a good heart. If the two of you work together, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Laeren stared at her with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mercin, you are wise. Are you sure you would not make a better queen than I?”
She poked the fire again and savored the heat that washed over her. “You know I told you about what the Horusk did to me? Because of that I can’t have children.”
There were a few moments of stunned silence before the other woman responded. “I am sorry. So, what are your plans?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have a plan right now, except to follow Talis, but somewhere in this world is a place for me, a place no one else can fill. I just have to find it. Listen, tomorrow I’m going to be on watch with Talis, and you’ll be with Surtor. Talk to him. Feel him out about House Jeneros, but don’t start trying to make a daughter yet.”
Laeren looked shocked but giggled again. “I do not think I could lie down like that in the middle of the forest.”
Mercin smiled back. “It can be romantic if you’re with the right man.”
Laeren replied with a polite smile, “At the Radiant Temple reproduction is closely managed. Those than cannot control their sexual desires and attempt to mate outside the chosen couplings can face beatings and even expulsion.”
Mercin gave her a side glance. “How do they know who a good match is and who isn’t?”
“They watch us through the years of our development and pray and fast to seek the will of Antol. Most of the time the priestesses approve of unions between already willing partners, but sometimes they pass on bad news when signs tell them a couple is not right together. Sometimes there are those that are never approved for a marriage, like Deira, but they often go on to do great things, like become champion.” Laeren pushed her hair from her face, yawned, and said, “I did not think to be talking about this tonight.”
Mercin smiled and reached down to toss the last piece of the big log in the flames. It landed with a flare of cinders twisting into the air, their tiny lights going out as she watched. “Doesn’t surprise me. All the fires I’ve sat around in my time, I’ve heard people talk about all kinds of things, love, money, crops, even future plans. I think people like to remind themselves there are things out there in life waiting for us instead of worrying about being out here in the dark.” She glanced over and saw Laeren’s eyes were closed, and she let her rest.
Mercin sat quietly until the rising sun began to light the sky. She woke Laeren first, so they could rouse the men to resume their march to House Jeneros.
The next day passed uneventfully, creeping through the unchanging forest, trusting the skills of the former rangers to lead him to safety. Surtor hated every moment of it. It was not that he felt his companions were failing him, but every second he spent in this abominable forest was a delay he could not afford. Somewhere out there, General Torn was still alive and moving closer to Eireth. Although he was no longer destined to be champion, Surtor was determined to do what he could as prince and king to help his people. He did his best not to think of Deira. His conversation with Talis the night before convinced him that she was gone from his life, and there was nothing he could do about it. His fond memories of her were still fresh, though, and he consoled his broken heart remembering the private moments they shared. No one could take those from him.
At midday they stopped by a clear stream to rest. Feeling the call of nature, Surtor smiled at his companions and stood. “I must tend to my needs. I will return in a moment.”
The women only glanced in his direction, but Talis warned him, “Stay alert, and don’t go too far.”
Nodding in reply, the prince stepped away from the others, and around several of the trees. When he was certain no one would hear him, he opened his pants to empty his bladder. He never realized how much he used his back when walking, but every move he made tugged at the slash across his shoulder blades. Putting the irritation out of his mind, he hummed a short tune from his childhood as he directed his stream over a shrub in front of him. Finished, he began to button up, and turned to find a Horusk creeping towards him.
The raider had long, loose black hair, thick beard, a dark smudge on his forehead that must have once been one of the runes. He wore only a pair of hide pants with boots, and on his hairy chest were black symbols in a crooked pattern. Surtor gave a startled cry as the barbarian hurled an axe at him, and he threw himself back on the wet bush to avoid the spinning blade. The axe connected with his outstretched hand, and he felt a sharp jolt of pain. Snarling, the barbarian ran at him, sword raised for the kill, but Talis leapt between them. One swipe of the Grey Blade cut the Horusk down.
Surtor took a moment to look at his bloody hand and saw half of his right pinky finger hanging by a flap of skin. Then, as though seeing his wound allowed the pain to find him, a burning sensation shivered up his arm. Much worse than the cut on his back, the agony made him nauseous.
“T-Talis . . . “ he called out.
The swordsman held up a hand for silence. He was listening for any sign of more attackers. Mercin stood over him with her bow ready, watching the forest keenly. Laeren appeared at his side and pulled him to his feet.
“Why are you wet?” she asked but turned her head in disgust as the odor gave her the answer.
The prince could hardly blame her for the reaction, but decided a joke was in order. “If only I knew he was there, I would have asked the Horusk to wait until a less sensitive time to try and kill me.”
Laeren forced a smile, but still put some space between them.
Mercin advised him, “Go wash in the stream.”
“What about this?” he asked, wincing as he held up his dangling finger.
With a calm, steady hand, the red-haired woman pulled her knife, and finished what the Horusk axe had started. Without comment, she tossed the top half of his pinky to the ground. Surtor looked from her to his discarded body part. She gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder, pulling her damp hand away with a clear look of regret.
“Better your finger than your head,” Mercin said to him as she walked past, holding her contaminated hand out to the side.
Talis continued to watch the forest around them with the Grey Blade ready. When they returned to the stream, Mercin doused both her hands in the clear running water. With her hands still dripping, she rummaged through her pack for ointment for his finger. Shaking from pain and cold, the prince pulled his soiled garments off and washed in the clear stream, gritting his teeth against the sting of rinsing his injured hand.
“Where did that Horusk come from?” Laeren asked. She pulled some fresh garments from Surtor’s bag and handed them to him without looking. It did not seem to bother her being close to him wearing only his undershorts.
Still watching the trees, Talis sheathed the Grey Blade before answering, “He had to be a survivor from one of the other raider groups. Horusk have good survival skills, so it’s not hard to imagine he could make it on his own out here.”
Mercin spoke up, “He might have been tracking us.”
The swordsman nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. As soon as you’re ready, Surtor, we’ll move on.”
Surtor pulled his musty shirt over his head. Growing up in the shelter of the Mirdas Palace, he had servants to keep his garments clean, but the inconvenience of smelly clothes seemed a small concern now. “But why attack me? What did he have to gain? Did he recognize me?”
Pulling a roll of bandages from her pack, Mercin answered, “I don’t think you realize how bloodthirsty the dirt worshippers are. Back in Eireth, we would take out raiding parties, and sometimes have one or two survive. They wouldn’t go home. They would stay near villages, killing animals or hunters, even children. Killing and hurting people is the only reason they come here.” She handed him the wood medicine jar.
The prince winced as he smeared a dab of ointment on his bloody finger stump. Mercin wrapped it in a bandage for him, and after collecting their supplies, they set out again. Speaking only when necessary, they stalked along at a slower pace with Talis leading. Mercin stayed in the rear with her bow, constantly scanning the trees for more threats. Surtor cradled his throbbing hand, and kept his jaw clenched to keep from complaining. After a few hours the severed finger began to itch terribly, but Mercin advised him not to scratch.
“It’s making a scab,” she explained. “When it falls off, your nub will be healed.”
It was long after sunset before Talis stopped next to a fallen tree and whispered to them, “Cold camp tonight. No talking unless you must. Stay alert. Surtor, you get some rest, and the three of us will handle watch duty tonight.”
The prince did not argue as they made one large bedroll, and Mercin changed his bandage by the light of Talis’ lantern. Grateful for their care, he lay down, shivering as he sheltered in his blanket. He knew nothing else until Laeren shook him awake to a frigid, foggy morning.
The priestess smiled as she handed him one of the ration cakes of raisins and dry bread. “We should reach House Jeneros today. No more sleeping in the dirt.” He grimaced at the bland food in his hand and watched her pull her dirty hair back into a tail.
Chewing her own mouthful, Mercin told him, “Eat it. You need your strength.” Too miserable to argue, he took a bite, but needed a drink of water to wash down every dry wad.
Talis moved them only a little faster than yesterday, but he never stopped his scrutiny of the forest, even when he allowed them a rest. Another day of trudging inflamed the pain of his hand, but they reached a break in the trees. Breathing heavily, he leaned against a trunk and looked over the cleared land of House Jeneros. The broad field of grass before them he only glimpsed during his visit, and the back of the two-story home was in the distance. It was as he remembered it, with faint red roof and stone fireplace chimney. Overhead the sun was a bright blotch among grey tinged clouds near to the horizon, and a chill wind gusted through the trees. The air was filled with the sound of the rustling green leaves, as though the forest urged them on.
By Aaron Ward
Published by Aaron Ward
Copyright 2024 Aaron Ward
Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Original Literature 